“Granted, Vigo,” said M. le Duc.  But he did not add, “Fetch the boot.”

Vigo went on with steady persistence.  “He has not been loyal to Monsieur and his interests in refusing to tell what he knows.  And if he goes counter to Monsieur’s interests he is a traitor, Broux or no Broux.  He has no claim to be treated as other than an enemy.  These are serious times.  Monsieur does not well to play with his dangers.  The boy must tell what he knows.  Am I to go for the boot, Monsieur?”

M. le Duc was silent for a moment, while the hot flush that had sprung to his face died away.  Then he answered Vigo: 

“Nevertheless, it is owing to Felix that I shall not walk out to meet my death to-night.”

The secretary had stood silent for a long time, fingering nervously the papers on the table.  I had forgotten his presence, when now he stepped forward and said: 

“If I might be permitted a suggestion, Monsieur—­”

Monsieur silenced him with a sharp gesture.

“Felix Broux,” he said to me, “you have been following a bad plan.  No man can run with the hare and hunt with the hounds.  You are either my loyal servant or my enemy, one thing or the other.  Now I am loath to hurt you.  You have seen how I am loath to hurt you.  I give you one more chance to be honest.  Go and think it over.  If in half an hour you have decided that you are my true man, well and good.  If not, by St. Quentin, we will see what a flogging can do!”

VIII

Charles-Andre-Etienne-Marie.

Unpleased, but unprotesting, Vigo led me out into the anteroom.  Those men who judged by the outside of things and, knowing Vigo’s iron ways, said that he ruled Monsieur, were wrong.

The big equery gave me over to the charge of Marcel and returned to the inner room.  Hardly had the door closed behind him when the page burst out: 

“What is it?  What is the coil?  What have you done, Felix?”

Now you can guess I was too sick-hearted for chatter.  I had defied and disobeyed my liege lord; I could never hope for pardon or any man’s respect.  They threatened me with flogging; well, let them flog.  They could not make my back any sorer than my conscience was.  For I had not the satisfaction in my trouble of thinking that I had done right.  Monsieur’s danger should have been my first consideration.  What was Yeux-gris, perjured scoundrel, in comparison with M. le Duc?  And yet I knew that at the end of the half-hour I should not tell; at the end of the flogging I should not tell.  I had warned Monsieur; that I would have done had it been the breaking of a thousand oaths.  But give up Yeux-gris?  Not if they tore me limb from limb!

“What is it all about?” cried Marcel, again.  “You look as glum as a Jesuit in Lent.  What is the matter with you, Felix?”

“I have cooked my goose,” I said gloomily.